


BUT NOW WE'RE TOGETHER ALONE

by BandWurks (TopherIsATribble)



Category: Shinedown (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Developing Relationship, Hate Speech, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution, Sex Work, Slow Build, Smut, Violation, everyday struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopherIsATribble/pseuds/BandWurks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Bass is struggling to get by even as he's pushing 40. How will he manage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The dark alleyway was lit only by a single streetlight on the other end of the street as Eric stumbled home from his job waiting tables. His feet hurt so badly; he had been working overtime as a waiter in addition to his other job in order to make enough to feed himself and pay his rent. He wasn’t in his twenties anymore, that was for sure. He had to work twice as hard now to keep his jobs, working out every chance he could that he wasn’t waiting tables or on a bed to be used by the client of the night. He had to stay looking good to keep the good clients, the ones who wanted a built young man, not a man pushing 40. As long as he kept working out, kept himself ripped, he could make some quick cash on the side, even if half of it went to the pimp that had kept him tethered to this job with death threats and threats of prison. Luckily, Eric had kept out of the drugs he had been offered, but he still needed this money to survive in San Francisco, an expensive city, where his studio apartment cost him 1400 a month. It was ridiculous, but he had to have a roof over his head. He managed to keep the lights on, and running water, but he barely ate most days, let alone had guests or any semblance of a social life.

Tonight was proving to be good to him, as he didn’t have to go out at two in the morning to please a client. Once he managed to unlock his apartment, he stumbled in and relocked the door, stripping from his waiter’s clothing. The black slacks, white shirt, black tie, and vest fell to the floor, as did his underwear, and he grabbed a towel so he could go shower. He was exhausted, and had to be up at 7, but he knew he needed a shower. He worked all day the next day, Thursday, before he got his golden Friday off. He hoped like hell this Friday he would be free of having to sell his body, but knowing his luck, it wouldn’t be at all. 

He dragged his feet all the way to the shower, so sore from all the standing and walking. He worked at a fairly upscale restaurant, one where he had to stand long hours while delivering food. The pay was good, but with the cost of rent and utilities, was eaten up before he could feed himself. Eric liked the restaurant enough, and was debating asking for a raise. It was a pretty great deal for a job, actually; he didn’t have to cover tattoos or take out piercings because his place of work, which was actually called Sound Bites, was a joint that built itself around the rock and metal community. Eric had been drawn to the restaurant when it had opened because of this, and his love of music had made it easy for him to get the job he had now, and he was quite possibly facing a promotion. However, the manager, one step above his position as the senior waiter, was stubbornly holding to her job despite her disdain for the restaurant and for Eric himself. He was trying to keep good spirits about it, but if he didn’t at least get a raise soon, he would likely have to quit and find another place to live.

He sighed as he set the towel aside and began to run the water, a cool shower even though he was sore, because it would waste water while he waited for it to heat up, and he couldn’t afford to waste water. He stepped in and hissed at the cold, raising the temperature just a bit as he shivered and reached for the soap to start cleaning himself of the sweat from the hot July day. He tried to keep his showers short, so as to pay as little as he could, and finally, the shower had warmed slightly by the time he had finished lathering his body. He looked at his tattoos under the suds, watching them slowly run off as he saw the scars that covered tattoos from years of abuse at the hands of clients and pimps and people who had beat him in the alleys for being gay. Every mark was another symbol of his strength, of his ability to continue through all the adversity he faced.

He finished rinsing his body before reaching for the shampoo to lather his hair, as quickly and efficiently as he could in his exhaustion. He felt tears come to his stinging eyes as he rinsed his hair, unsure if it had gotten in his eye or if he was just crying; perhaps, even, it was a little of both. He made sure he was completely rinsed before switching off the cold water, stepping out and drying himself with the towel before moving to take a piss. He wrapped the towel around his waist, returning to his bed area to pull on underwear and sweats, glancing at the time before he moved to switch the lights off and curl in bed. It was now 3 AM and he sighed once more, groaning as he plugged in his cell phone, the other bill he paid monthly in order to keep in contact with his job and his current pimp. He set his alarm for 7 AM, weary and knowing he only had four hours to sleep before he had to be awake in order to get ready for work and make it on time, by 9 AM, and he would work until 6 PM, then he would get off, only to have to please a client for 6 hours, at which point he would have to get back home in order to clean himself again and then hopefully, hopefully have a little peace. It was going to be even more exhausting than today had, and Eric could only hope that the sex work would end soon and he would have a good enough salary to take care of himself. He blinked as these thoughts ran through his head, glancing at the clock once more. 3:30. He huffed and closed his eyes, begging the morning to be easy on him when he woke.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric’s eyes opened at exactly 6:57 AM. He glanced at the alarm clock and winced, rubbing his eyes and wishing like hell he could call in sick and take the day off. He knew that that wasn’t possible, though, if he wanted to be able to pay for everything he had to pay for. He hated capitalism, in some ways; it had been fucking him over all his life and making it impossible for him to survive without having to abuse all his resources, including his body, to make them stretch. And today, it was ready to fuck him over once again. He cursed as his alarm went off, having wasted three precious minutes that could have been sleep by waking. He had managed just short of three and a half hours of sleep and had a seventeen hour day ahead of him before he could rest once more, if he could, knowing what he had to do tonight.

He pulled himself out of bed, standing to make himself a bowl of cereal. It was boring, but all he had right now; he would have to make it to a convenience store later if he could in order to feed himself. He used the rest of the milk in fixing the bowl of cereal, grabbing himself a glass of water while he was at it. He was officially out of food. Eric sighed as he ate, dragging on the waking up part of his morning for as long as he could, a whole twenty minutes. As soon as he finished, he pulled on his waiter’s outfit and styled his hair, heading for the BART station. It was a twenty minute walk to the nearest BART station for him if the traffic was good, and then a short BART ride, and then another half an hour’s walk to his job. The hour’s transit made it difficult for him not to have to wake up incredibly early.

He used his Clipper card to let himself through the gateway, into the station as he waited for the next train, arriving in ten minutes because there was some kind of delay today. Great, Eric thought, huffing as he shuffled around, fully aware of the cops at this station. He was a white man, yes, but he was buff and tatted and pierced and gay, and was somehow always aware of the fact that he was something that could be seen as a threat. He was also acutely aware of the knowing glances he got from some of the people he knew had seen him around when he was, ahem, servicing someone. Eric tapped his foot anxiously, knowing this leering would likely continue on unless he were to leave San Francisco.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the train arrived, announcing day-long delays for track work. Eric huffed, his mind wandering, knowing he would have no wiggle room for getting to his second job today. He stepped onto the train, starting to get busy now as people were beginning to take their children to school or head to desk jobs. Eric envied them; they didn’t have to work on their feet all day or on their knees at night; they could afford to feed their own mouths, let alone their children’s. He wished he could even feed himself, or sit in an uncomfortable chair for hours pushing buttons that, in twenty years or so, wouldn’t even matter anyway, as the world turned on.

The train seemed to crawl towards the station Eric was supposed to get off at, and he scoffed quietly at the thought of rapid transit after today’s events. He knew his scoffing was a fallacy, as the transit usually did get you there quickly, and one day wouldn't change major data that gave the rail its name, but on days when one was frustrated, all those little things seemed to be the proof that the world was lying to fuck one over. As the train finally reached the station, Eric hopped off, quickly making his way out of the gateway and out of the station, quickly heading in the direction of his job so that hopefully he could make up for some of the lost time in getting to work. 

After bumping into some bodies and quickly making his way away from them, Eric finally managed to get to the steakhouse restaurant he worked at. It was fairly upscale, popular among the upper middle class, but wasn’t completely unaffordable to try at least once. It was open from 9 AM to midnight, and depending on when he was needed, Eric would either open or close, never work the middle of the day. He was trusted with the tasks for both, having been a loyal employee since just after the restaurant had opened five years prior. And on days he opened, Eric had to arrive at least a half hour before they opened so as to prepare for the customers that enjoyed a breakfast or a brunch there.

All Eric’s anger from earlier in the morning turned to fuel for his productivity, as though the harder he worked, the faster he would get to leave, so he could get this awful day over with. And as he readied himself to take and deliver orders as well as getting things set up for the other employees (something that should have been the manager’s job, honestly, but she never did her job, he did most of it for her) he glanced at the street, watching the sidewalks fill with more and more people and get busier and busier as they opened.

Customers started to trickle in; most of their breakfast customers were loyal and showed most mornings, and Eric knew most of their orders by heart. There was Matt, a larger biker who had a massive love for the hard rock genre and was promoting them at every chance he got; there was Jake, a smaller man, but fierce, who liked to tip Eric heavily to make up for some of the things he had seen Eric encounter; there was Lynn, a soft-spoken woman who didn’t seem like it at first, but played their open mics sometimes, and was a fantastic guitarist and screamer. There were a few other customers who showed up often, but weren’t as dedicated, as well as a straggler or two who had been there a few times but only came once in a while, almost like the culture of the restaurant was a guilty pleasure to them. However, today, there was one face Eric didn’t recognize, from any breakfast or dinner shift he had worked. Had this been dinner time, he wouldn’t have been surprised, but most people didn’t know that Sound Bites was open this early to serve breakfast.

After taking the loyal customers’ orders (that both Eric and the rest of the staff knew by heart at this point), Eric approached the newcomer while the other waiter on right now, Jessica, took up the other tables. He put on his customer service smile, the one he could let come a little more naturally with the regulars because he knew them and was even friends with them at this point.

“Good morning and welcome to Sound Bites, where both our food and culture have that rocking bite that music lovers savor. My name is Eric and I’ll be your waiter. Can I get you a drink?” 

The newcomer pondered a moment, nodding. “Pleasure to meet you, Eric. I’m Barry. Friend of mine told me this joint had some good breakfast, figured I would see for myself. I’ll take a black coffee, please.”

Eric took a moment to really look over the new customer, noting the dreadlocks and beard. The man looked like an animal. The expression on Barry’s face was hard to work out, as it was almost a poker face of sorts, one you might expect to see on a food critic that never gave a good review. Most of all, it unnerved Eric that he couldn’t figure this man out. He nodded after a moment and wrote down the man’s drink order before looking back up at Barry.

“One black coffee, coming right up. Would you like a few moments before ordering, or would you like me to take your order now?” Eric continued with his script, fighting the desire to question the man in front of him then and there.

Barry looked at him with the same expressionless face before letting his eyes narrow and handing the menu to Eric. “Surprise me,” he drawled, and though it wasn’t menacing, Eric was intimidated.

“Will do,” Eric murmured, stepping away slowly and writing down an order for a medium rare t-bone steak and two eggs over easy, plus hash browns. He hesitated, then wrote down wheat toast as well to eat the eggs with. He took the order into the kitchen and returned to Barry with a mug and the pot of hot coffee, pouring him a mug without another word, feeling like he was being silently judged the entire time.

Eric continued his normal rounds while he waited to bring food out to his customers, greeting new people as they came in and going about things as a waiter does, laughing with the regulars, refilling coffee here and there. No more words were exchanged between him and the mysterious Barry as he waited for the newcomer’s plate of food to be ready.

Soon enough, however, it was, and Eric grabbed Barry’s surprise, walking over to him and setting the plate in front of him. “Here you go, Barry. A t-bone steak, medium rare, two eggs over easy, hash browns, and wheat toast, otherwise known as my favorite breakfast here at Sound Bites. I hope you enjoy it and please flag me down if you need anything.” He smiled softly, watching for any change in the dreadlocked man’s expression, though change didn’t come. The poker face remained.

“Will do,” Barry drawled, repeating Eric’s own words from earlier. Eric swallowed, hesitating before walking away to let the man eat in peace. He continued his normal routine, chatting more with Matt, Jake, and Lynn, plus teasing Jessica here and there as the regulars remained and those others who came casually finished their meals and dawdled out, leaving only the regulars and Barry. Eventually, the time of the clock ticked by, and come 10:30, even Matt, Jake, and Lynn had left and the restaurant was fatefully empty of customers when Barry finally flagged Eric down for his bill.

Eric took a deep breath before approaching with the bill setting it down. “What did you think, Barry? Good enough to become a Sound Bites regular?” He watched Barry’s expression, looking for any sign of disdain or happiness, anything that could help Eric determine what he was feeling.

“I think,” Barry, drawled, his words drawn out and tantalizing, bits of information Eric needed, feedback he desired from this mysterious newcomer, more tantalizing than any other piece of feedback he had ever wanted before, even from the famed musicians he had waited on before, for none of them had ever been this unreadable, “that you have a very good taste, Mr. Eric…”

“Bass,” Eric filled in quickly, surprised that he had given out his last name so easily, let alone at all, waiting for more.

“Bass,” Barry added, nodding. “I quite enjoyed the meal and will have to come back some time.” 

Eric let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding at Barry’s words. For some reason, this one newcomer’s opinions mattered more to him than even the dearest friends he had in his regulars, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Well, thank you, Mr…”

“Just Barry is fine for now,” Barry said softly, yet strongly. His words were somehow gentle yet able to knock the wind out of Eric with the sheer confidence Barry exuded. It was easy to be intimidated. “Thank you, Eric.”

Eric nodded quickly, fighting not to make himself seem like a fool. “Always, Barry, and thank you for eating at Sound Bites. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day.” He almost expected a response, but with that, Barry was out the door, and Eric glanced down at the table, where the checkbook was, eyes widening at the sixty dollar tip, more than thrice the cost of the man’s meal. He picked it up and quickly put one of the twenty dollar bills in his pocket and taking one bill to Jessica, and one to Coriander, the chef who was on for breakfast, grateful that their awful supervisor Lauren wasn’t in until noon.

Coriander and Jessica’s eyes also widened. “He gave that much?” Coriander asked, and Eric nodded, incredulous as well.

“Wow,” Jessica said. “You were the one who served him, I don’t deserve this,” she murmured, a frown painting her face, framed by long, wavy black locks that ran down her petite body to the small of her back. Eric adored Jessica, for the fact that she was sweet and kind as well as having some spunk. She was the perfect fit for the next senior waiter, if her were either to leave or to accept Lauren’s position, depending which.

“Yeah, you do, Jess,” Eric said softly, hugging her close. “You were fantastic with everyone else this morning while I handled a lot less than I normally do, and you do deserve the tip. You’re fantastic. I’m honestly sad that no one tips you this well.” He smiled impishly and walked away, ready to return to serving as the lunch hour approached rapidly, waiting for this part of his day to be over if only so he could get the other part of his day over with as quickly as he possibly could afterwards.


	3. Chapter 3

Eric glanced at the time on his phone, stomach lurching, before placing it into the pocket of his vest, ready to enter the room of the next john. This one, Ricky, was a regular that had a particular penchant for abusing Eric in new ways every time, despite the rules set in place. He was good friends with Eric’s pimp, Wade, and Wade would take Ricky’s side over Eric’s every time something were to happen. Several of the scars upon Eric’s body were from when Ricky got far too into it or angry that Eric wasn’t doing exactly what he wanted.

After a moment, Eric knew his time was up and he had to knock, had to get Ricky to let him in. He had been told a stupid code knock so that Ricky would know who it was. What were they, six? Still, he swallowed and sucked it up, knocking in the pattern he had been told to, fighting his lurching stomach. He hadn’t eaten at work like he normally did because he knew this job made him nauseous and he usually couldn’t stomach anything without wanting to let it all go.

Ricky opened the door, his creepy smile making Eric want to run and hide, get away from here even if Wade would set someone after him to kill him. He knew Ricky’s appearance well, out of place here in San Francisco with his countrified mullet, plaid flannel, and porny mustache. “Hello, Eric,” Ricky drawled, the words dripping from his lips like poison. “Nice of you to finally join me, I have some extra fun stuff planned today. Well, for me, anyway. YOU are late and any chance you had of me taking it easy on you is gone.”

Eric fought to not let his feelings turn to tears, not let Ricky break him. “Yes sir,” Eric murmured, his expression that of a wounded dog as he stepped into Ricky’s apartment, littered with beer cans, cigarette butts, and ash, Ricky’s self and mannerisms belonging more in a trailer park than here in the city, the only reason Ricky was here being that he had money. Eric knew that from this second on tonight, no matter his feelings, obedience was key to his survival. He hated Ricky with a passion, almost as much as he hated Wade. But he had to do this, had to do sex work, in order to survive at this point. He stood, silent and obedient, as he waited for Ricky’s orders.

“Well. You don’t get the privilege of the bed or even of sitting today unless you get very lucky and I feel nice. You were late, and I don’t think you deserve to sit or lay down at all.” Ricky’s vicious, perverted grin violated Eric’s consciousness far more deeply than he had ever felt violated physically by any of his clients, let alone Ricky. Eric was already incredibly sore from his shift and the fact that there had been no seats on the BART this evening, and now, after that and walking, he was going to have to stand for six hours. He fought his wince at the thought, knowing any audible displeasure or fear would get him punished and violated much more than he was already bound to be.

“Yes sir,” Eric said obediently, his voice wavering, and Ricky began to stare him down. Eric flinched involuntarily as Ricky raised his hand, and soon it was backhanding Eric hard across the face. Eric fought the reflex of tears to the burning of his cheek as he tasted the copper of his own blood from biting his tongue with the impact. He swallowed it rather than spit it on the floor and risk further beatings, as he knew Ricky would take it as a sign of disrespect.

“I don’t think you meant that, Eric,” Ricky said, the anger dripping into his voice as his perverted grin was replaced with an expression of anger. “Now, why don’t you try that again?”

“Yes sir,” Eric said once more, obediently, fighting his hardest not to let his voice waver. He hated being hit and to be hit before Ricky had even started the sexual part of it all was unheard of. Eric was terrified of being hit again before the sex was to start.

“Good,” Ricky said, the creepy smile returning. “Now strip, and I want you to give me a show.” Ricky put on some god-awful country song that it took Eric a moment to recognize, Bottoms Up by Brantley Gilbert. Eric fought the desire to vomit at the song, which tried to be romantic but only came out as perverted and oversexualized.

Eric nodded, obedient as he could be. “Yes, sir,” he said, inhaling as he began to strip, unbuttoning his vest first, still in his work clothes, agonizingly slow to himself as he tried to make it as sensual as possible to please Ricky. Then came his tie, slowly pulled off and used as a highlight of his movements, followed closely by Eric’s shirt, unbuttoned even more slowly as he feigned confidence, exposing his tatted and scarred chest, many of which had come from Ricky’s hands over the past couple years.

“More of a show, Eric, or you’ll regret it.” Eric nodded, moving to the music, trying simultaneously to block it out for fear of getting sick and to move in time to please Ricky so that he wouldn’t get hit again. And then Eric had to undo his slacks after kicking shoes off, fighting to move sensually to the song to keep Ricky satisfied. And then came socks, then Eric had to remove his underwear, doing so as the song ended, fully nude in front of Ricky, nowhere near aroused enough to sport an erection. His scarred body was on full display for its biggest abuser, as he fought for his self-control.

“What can I do for you now, Ricky?” Eric asked submissively, keeping his tone as far away from anything but obedient as possible.

Ricky looked him up and down. “On your knees, thighs perpendicular to the floor. No rest for you.” Eric nodded and dropped to his knees in one movement, trying to hide the dejected feeling as Ricky roughly, quickly undid his belt and lowered his pants and underwear, erection springing free, almost as though to stab Eric. “Now suck. And if you gag, you’ll regret it.”

Eric took a deep breath, nodding as his mouth opened and engulfed Ricky’s cock, fighting to do this right. And Ricky nodded, barely giving Eric a second before grabbing his hair and forcing his cock down Eric’s throat, cutting off Eric’s air supply. He fought to take it all as he grew dizzy, swallowing around Ricky in hopes that Ricky would let up, tears he couldn’t control from a lack of air running down onto his cheeks.

Ricky seemed to notice this as he pulled back enough to let Eric breathe a second before pushing himself back and letting go of Eric’s hair. “Move your fucking head, Eric, if you want a chance to breathe, I don’t want to have to get rid of your corpse.” And Eric did so unenthusiastically, if only to breathe; sadly, death threats and the like were not new from Ricky. Eric continued to bob his head, trying to draw out Ricky’s pleasure for a few reasons: one, it made the time pass faster with less to do; two, if Ricky was pleased, there was less of a chance of danger for Eric; three, the longer he took with Ricky in his mouth meant the less time he took with Ricky inside his ass.

Apparently, Eric was doing too well tonight as Ricky pulled out of Eric’s mouth. “Oh, no, you filthy boy whore, you aren’t getting my cum that fast. No, you have to earn it today, and it’s not going to feel nice. Now stand and face the wall, hands against it, legs spread.”

Eric nodded almost dejectedly, hoping it looked more compliant and weak than upset as he followed Ricky’s orders. He managed a quick glance at the clock as he moved to the wall; it was only 7:30 PM, and he was supposed to be here until midnight. He had no way not to consent, not with Ricky being one of Wade’s closest friends. 

Slowly, Eric raised his hands to the wall, spreading his legs like Ricky had told him too. This time, there was something new as Ricky bent to tie rope around Eric’s ankles, which then connected to furniture to keep his legs spread and him immobilized and standing, much to Eric’s horror. He then felt Ricky’s hands reaching around him to grab his cock, pumping him until his body betrayed him by giving him an erection. And then Ricky was fitting Eric with a cock ring, his head peeking over Eric’s shoulder, hot breath in Eric’s ear and face, making Eric feel another wave of nausea.

“Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You comply with everything I say and do and I let you go at ten. That’s the easy way. If you don’t, then I keep you till midnight and make it hurt even more. Now you pick.”

Eric swallowed and whispered his choice. “The easy way, please,” he said, more a prayer to whatever divine force was controlling the hellish earth he was on right now to just give him a slight break from all that was happening to him, all the evil that had been taking over his life lately.

“I didn’t hear you, you filthy faggot whore. I’ll give you one more chance. You pick.” Ricky’s words were menacing and Eric forced his words louder, repeating what he had said before. “Good,” said Ricky, spitting on Eric. “That’s what I thought. So do everything I say and I’ll keep my end of the bargain. Your hands remain against this wall unless I tell you that you can remove them from the wall. You allow me any and all access I want to everything I want with nothing but a ‘Yes sir’. You do not cry. You make no noise unless I tell you to. You do not flinch. You answer every question I ask. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” Eric said, fighting his own natural reactions to keep his end of the deal, needing so badly to go home. 

“Alright,” Ricky said, spitting on Eric once more. And Eric stayed perfectly still, allowing his senses to pick up what was going on behind him. He heard the rustle of clothes as Ricky pulled the rest of his clothes completely off, heard the sound of a leather belt being pulled quickly through belt loops. He heard the crack of the leather belt as it was pulled taught once, twice, three times and Eric could barely register it before he felt the sting of leather across his back, having half a second to prevent himself from flinching. 

No tears fell, as Eric was determined to hold up his end and get out of there a whole two hours earlier than he had planned. And he braced himself continually as he felt the strip of leather lash against his back one, two, three times more, and so on until he lost count and lost trach of time. He felt hot liquid drip down his raw back, his own blood, as Ricky finally let up. Eric took a half a second to glance at the clock as Ricky turned to set the belt aside. Ricky had beaten him for an hour with the belt, so agonizingly slow and yet so quick at the same time. Eric was completely unaroused and yet his erection was still there thanks to being forced by Ricky and held with the cock ring.

Eric knew the worst was yet to happen, and he listened as Ricky moved toward the iPhone dock once more, putting on that god-awful country station that he had put on earlier before returning to Eric. Eric fought to count the bumps on the drywall that his hands were upon, a distraction from his previous situation. And soon Ricky’s humid breath was on his ear again. “I’m going to give you a choice, Eric. Either I use a condom and take pictures of you like this and post them or you let me bare inside you with no lube.”

Eric’s stomach lurched at the choice. He hated Ricky, had no idea if he was clean, and he also knew his career could possibly face its end with the other choice. Either way could potentially kill him, but the humiliation he couldn’t face, let alone the loss of his job if he were to contract something that he would have to pay for treatment for. And he hesitated before answering Ricky with one word. “Bare.”

“Good choice,” Ricky said, and Eric could feel the disgusting grin behind his words. And with no notice whatsoever, Ricky was shoving himself into Eric, and it took all Eric’s strength not to flinch or cry out. It hurt worse than the lashings had, to be so brutally violated with no real choice in the matter. It hurt physically, as Ricky’s larger than average member slammed in and out of him, as his body betrayed him and his forced erection pulsed against the cock ring, as Ricky’s hands landed on the places he had lashed earlier to brace himself as he moved within Eric, to hold back the tears that burned at his eyes. It hurt to be on his feet this long with no movement as his body was forced to withstand this brutal fucking from his most common and vicious abuser. It hurt emotionally, to know that he was being used, to know that his life had sunk so low as to require him to let himself be used and violated and never actually loved. It hurt to think that this might be the only way he might ever have sex, to be violated by horrible men for forty-five percent of what they were paying to use and abuse Eric’s toned, muscular body that he worked so hard and cared so deeply for to maintain while Wade got the other fifty-five percent. It hurt to know that a relationship was out of the picture for him almost indefinitely. It hurt to know that in the hierarchy of needs to be fulfilled for self-completion, he was still struggling at 39 years old to maintain food and shelter, let alone personal security and safety. 

Everything hurt, and Eric wasn’t allowed to make a sound or flinch or cry or anything as Wade’s cock continued to slam in and out of him with no mercy, nothing. Eric just had to suffer through it until his time was up. And Eric knew that Wade could go long and hard for quite a while. Eric continued to try to focus on counting the bumps on the drywall, anything to keep himself from breaking his end of the deal with Ricky. And soon Ricky’s hand was wrapping around Eric’s cock once more, pulling the cock ring off, Eric knowing that Ricky had to be getting close to his own release to force Eric’s body into an unwilling release as well. 

Ricky’s hot breath once again fell against his ear. “Cum for me, you filthy faggot, and I’ll let you go as soon as I cum and can untie you.” It was the worst kind of violation, to Eric, for his body to be forced into this situation, to physically feel pleasure when all Eric felt was disgust and pain. And yet, he forced himself to let his arousal peak and he shot his load all over Ricky’s hand and the wall, Ricky following soon after.

Eric felt Ricky panting against his back, beaten and battered before Ricky pulled out and untied his legs. “Get your things and go,” Ricky said, the perverted grin once more crossing his mustachioed face. “If you aren’t dressed and out of here in five minutes, I’ll tell Wade you cut out early and you know exactly whose story he’ll believe. Oh, and,” Ricky added, the words sounding almost like an afterthought, “come give me a kiss. With tongue.”

Eric swallowed, hoping it went unnoticed as he pulled on his clothes before stepping over towards Ricky, doing exactly as the man asked, the worst violation of Eric the whole night. Ricky’s mustache upon his upper lip scratched, the mental implications causing the sensation to burn. And as he pulled away from Ricky, he moved to gather his things and flee, making his way as quickly as he could through his pain towards the public transportation that he could catch at this time of night, pulling out his phone and seeing the time, only 9:30. Ricky had let him go even earlier than he had been told he would. And Eric made his way to the BART, and back home, finally reaching his apartment at almost 11 due to the slower night schedules and his physical pain, keeping his ascetic expression all the way until he stumbled into his apartment after unlocking it.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes once more as he forced himself to look in the mirror, to see the damage that Ricky had caused. As he turned his head as best as he could to see his back in the mirror, he saw several lashes from the belt, but only three that were deep enough to bleed. And he finally allowed tears to fall as his mind recounted the earlier events, such a change from meeting Barry that morning and his shift and the nice tip, his stomach lurching. Eric barely had enough time to kneel in front of the toilet before his stomach emptied itself completely, all the way to the point where his chest and throat burned with acid.

An ugly sob ripped through his chest as he was tortured by the night’s events, sobbing and heaving until he was out of tears and his stomach was empty. He flushed the toilet and forced himself to stand, the pain overwhelming, as he stumbled to the shower, covered in sweat and blood and semen and vomit.

He turned it on and immediately stepped in, screeching at the cold water on his wound, but knowing he had no time or money to allow the water to warm up without at least utilizing the cooler water before it to do what he had to. Slowly, he rinsed as much of the blood and sweat and vomit off his body as he could before the hard part came.

He forced himself to bend in front of the stream, the position all too familiar from several violations before, as he tried his best to clean Ricky’s seed from his body, to get the filth of his abuser off and out of him. He continued to sob, the pain almost blinding as the shower finally warmed and he finished cleaning himself before he shut the water off and stumbled out, unable to bear the pain of toweling off as he stumbled naked toward his dresser to find a pair of loose boxer-briefs, pulling them on as he grabbed his phone and plugged it in, falling upon his bed and passing out from the trauma of the night’s events.


End file.
